


A Ghost from the Past

by Raufnir



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Pining Gladio, Reincarnation, Tumblr Prompt, Vampire Gladio, Vampires, ardyn cursed a couple of people with vampirisim for shits and giggles, because that's what Ardyn would do, just saying, kind of melancholic feeling to it, not sure how frequently this will be updated, poor baby, pryna might show up later, reincarnation without memories, with some visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raufnir/pseuds/Raufnir
Summary: Based on a little Tumblr prompt that was simply 'Gladnis with vampires' and turned into this.Ardyn cursed Gladio and Ravus, among a select few others, with vampirism just for shits and giggles, and Gladio was forced to watch as the love of his life aged and died while he remained. Now, 300 years later, he returns to Insomnia after fifty years away, to find a reincarnation of Ignis sitting at their once-favourite bar, with no memories of Gladio or the life his previous self had, and only a lingering feeling of familiarity and an ancient copy of a book written 300 years ago by someone of the same name…





	1. Chapter 1

The world had moved on, and, in a way, so had he. To a certain extent at least. Well, as much as a vampire stuck in time at the age of thirty three really  _can_ move on. He learned a few new skills in the three centuries or so since he lost Ignis to old age. He learned to draw, nothing like Ignis and his eidetic memory and perfect mastery of every single medium, but it was enough for him to draw that face. He had it framed in his basement bedroom.

With the end of the Amicitia line at Iris, who hadn’t wanted children, he had inherited all of the family wealth. He didn’t want to dwell on the death of his sister either. She had lived a beautiful life, but it was so long ago he could barely recall the sound of her voice without the videos he’d kept on his relic of a phone. 

He couldn’t bear to hear Ignis’ voice anymore.

Fat lot of good all that wealth did him though, with no one to share it.

He’d discovered only a couple of other people that Ardyn had turned in to vampires. Ravus was one of them. Once a year or so, they’d meet up, but never for very long, mostly just to reminisce about their human lives. No one in the outside world even knew of the existence of vampires. He’d moved around Eos a lot, but without Ignis by his side, it was dreadfully lonely.

Drifting, without purpose, and feeling utterly hollow, it was his first night back in Insomnia for nearly fifty years. The city had changed, but not by much. The old landmarks were there, reconstructed or somehow clinging on after the chaos of the battle to return the light, but things had definitely changed.

He made his way through the dusk to a tavern that the four of them had used to frequent, on those rare occasions when, before it all went to shit, Noct had been able to leave the palace or his apartment and spend the evening as an ordinary Lucian. In the past two hundred years, it had barely changed, but it had been nearer three hundred since he and Ignis had stood against that dark, wooden bar. 

Ignis, tall back stooped with age, expression knowing and mind sharp as ever, had been mistaken for Gladio’s blind old grandfather on that last visit. It was a pretence they’d had to use more than once outside of the privacy of Gladio’s apartment. 

Gladio hadn’t been back since.

As he pushed open the door, he could see in his mind’s eye the wispy outline of that memory, shimmering vaguely at the edge of his imagination. A few patrons lined the bar, the music quiet, the ambience mellow, but Gladio, as he stepped across the threshold, thought his dead heart had burst right out of his chest.

Ignis.

Lean back, stiff shirt, ash-brown hair, glasses: exactly as he had been before they’d left in the king’s car that fateful morning before it all began.

_Ignis_.

It was  _impossible._

“Oi, buddy, shift it will ya?” a voice grumbled from behind him as his behemoth frame clogged up the doorway.

“Sorry,” he rumbled, stepping inside. He ground to a halt shortly afterwards though, just staring at the figure at the bar. The man was even drinking Ignis’ favourite drink. Gladio could smell the dry martini from where he stood. He was afraid to blink in case the vision vanished.

The man had his notebook on the bar, a fountain pen in his elegant hand, scribbling away. His breath came and went in his chest in even motions like waves on a shore. Every so often he would pause, sip his drink and push his specs up his nose over that darling little bump that Gladio had so admired in profile.

Gladio didn’t need to breathe, but if he had, he’d have run out of oxygen long ago.

Swallowing dryly, he forced himself to take one step. A single step was all he could manage. The sight of the man was more than he could bear. His blood sang to him. His canines throbbed in a way he had long mastered control over, and he thought he was going to die if he didn’t get close enough to share breaths with him.

Gladio took another step. And another. And another.

The man smelled the same. Not just similar, but  _the same_.

Gladio lowered himself onto a bar stool beside him, and the bartender saw him and nodded. “What can I get ya?” he asked, polishing a glass in the way that only the very best or the very worst bar owners could.

“Whisky,” he said. “Best one you got.”

At the sound of his voice, the man beside him twitched in surprise, a great black gash appearing across his page from the nib of his pen. He stared up at Gladio, wide green eyes burning.

“Ignis?” The question fell off his lips before he could stop it. At the man’s next words, his heart cracked. 

“Forgive me; but I don’t think I know you…?”

Disappointment blossomed thick and sour as burning plastic in his lungs. He shook his head, long hair flopping into his honey eyes. Of course. Of  _course_  it was too much for the Astrals to have given him a gift like this. After all his years of service. After all he did to restore the light.  _Still_  he was not granted a boon. Like Ardyn himself, he was too tainted. “No,” he choked. “No, I don’t think you do know me. Forgive me.”

“You know my name though?” he pressed, putting the cap back on his pen and setting it down with a heavy clunk on the polished wood of the bar. “It’s hardly a common name these days.”

“What can I say?” Gladio all but snarled, “Lucky guess. I’m old fashioned anyway.”

The bartender set down his glass of whisky and he snatched it, sloshing it down in one go. “Another.”

“You sure?” the man asked, but one look from Gladio convinced him and he scrambled to refill it.

“Tough day?” the Ignis who was and was not Ignis asked.

Gladio brought the refilled glass to his lips and risked a glance up at that face. He just stared at him, drinking in the sight of him until Ignis, who was not Ignis, leaned away a little, unnerved. “Forgive me,” Gladio said again. “Yes, it has been. And… you look  _exactly_ like someone I used to know.”

“Oh?”

“Gods,” Gladio hissed. “Even your voice is the same.”

“I apologise if my presence brings you pain.”

Gladio shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” Ignis had always used to blame himself for everything as well. Gladio sucked in a huge breath, pulled himself together, and looked at Ignis once more. “I’m Gladio. Nice to meet you.”

“Gladio,” the Ignis who was not Ignis repeated.

“Short for Gladiolus,” he grinned.

“Another old fashioned name,” Ignis smiled. “Your parents must have liked Lucian history.”

Gladio’s stomach flipped over. “Yeah. Guess they did. Yours too?”

Ignis shook his head. “I have no idea. I never knew my parents.”

His stomach did another summersault. His Iggy had been an orphan too. “What you writing? If I may ask…” His golden eyes flitted to the notebook.

Ignis chuckled. “I run a restaurant,” he began, but Gladio’s hearing faded out into white noise for an instant, masking his next few sentences.

“No freaking way,” he breathed.

“Yes,” Ignis was saying. “The Regalia is doing quite well, I’m pleased to say. Of course, it was a huge risk, taking over a failing business, but I’ve always had a nose for new recipes, and we’ve had some good reviews.” A frown flickered across his neat brows. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Gladio croaked. “Fine. I’m glad your business is doing well. You deserve it.”

That frown deepened, but it extinguished itself shortly and became a shy smile. “Thank you. I’m practically married to my work, so it’s nice to be rewarded.”

Gladio grinned. “Always nice when your spouse gets a compliment…”

Ignis laughed then, that shivering, breathy baritone that had always sent a rush through Gladio’s whole body. Ignis, who was not Ignis, sat there, shoulders shaking for only a few moments, but Gladio was transfixed. “And what about you?” Ignis asked. “Are you married then?”

“No,” Gladio said sadly. “I… I was once, but…”

“Didn’t work out?” Ignis asked innocently. He obviously assumed that someone who looked to be in their thirties couldn’t possibly be a widower.

“He… He died,” Gladio said, drawing another draught of his drink.

“I’m so sorry,” Ignis, who was not Ignis, said. “I cannot imagine what that must be like. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Gladio smiled. “He had a good life, I guess.” He shrugged. “Everyone has their time.” Well, almost everyone.

“Indeed,” Ignis murmured, though he looked puzzled by Gladio’s words. “Can I buy you another?” he asked, nodding to his now-empty whisky tumbler.

Gladio sighed and then smiled. “Why don’t you buy me something  _you_ think I’ll like. You know, surprise me.”

Ignis’ lips quirked at the corner and he adjusted his spectacles. 

Gladio’s breath hitched. 

“Alright,” he said. “Anything at all?”

“Anything at all. I can hold my alcohol.” That wasn’t strictly true, but even with mixing alcohols, it took a lot to get him drunk.

“Very well then,” he smiled, turning and attracting the bartender’s attention. He beckoned him close, leaning across the counter to whisper in his ear. Whatever Ignis, who was not Ignis, said, he drew a laugh from the bartender, who shot Gladio a look and then moved away.

“Gotta say,” Gladio smiled, “I’m intrigued.”

“It’s not  _that_ exciting,” Ignis chuckled. “Just, now that you’ve taken the edge off things with that –” he gestured to the whisky glass, “– I thought you should have a more relaxed drink.”

Gladio nodded and waited.

When the pint glass was set down and he inhaled the hoppy aroma that billowed off it, Gladio couldn’t help smiling. He wasn’t even sure his canines weren’t showing at full length. It smelled incredible. He had to laugh. It was like it really  _was_ Ignis.

“Well?” Ignis, who was not Ignis, asked, eyebrow cocked curiously.

Condensation was already ghosting on the glass. Gladio picked it up and drew deeply on it. It was perfect. It tasted like summers in Leide with the four of them, like lying in the baking sun beside Ignis at the sandy cove at Galdin on a scorching afternoon with Prompto and Noctis flailing around in the sea, like everything  _before_. “It’s perfect,” he smiled.

“I’m glad,” Ignis said.

The thought that it was strange to see his face without its scars suddenly slammed into Gladio like one of the Niff’s old flying fortresses. That face was utterly perfect. Just one or two old acne scars on his cheeks, that gorgeous little bump in his nose, and nothing but pale skin, high cheekbones, and bright, green eyes. “Thank you.”

They talked for so long that night that the bar emptied around them, and the staff were sweeping up the remnants of the customers’ drinks and food before they realised it.

“We should leave,” Ignis said, blushing. “I’m so sorry,” he said to the bartender as he scrambled off the stool and grabbed his notebook from where it had been lying for the past five hours.

“No sweat, Iggy,” the man said. “It’s nice to see you with some company for a change.”

Ignis, who was not Ignis, blushed so sweetly.

“Can I walk you home?” Gladio asked at the door to the bar. “Or at least part of the way?”

Ignis, who was not Ignis, paused on the street. It was quiet at this time of night. “I wouldn’t normally allow it,” he began, “But there’s something about you, Gladio. I can’t put my finger on it, but…” he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Thank you, me too.” As they wound through the streets with a steady pace and quiet conversation, Gladio felt his heart swell. This had to be too good to last, surely?

And then they were at the entrance of Ignis’ apartment building. “This is me,” Ignis said. He nodded to the series of names and buzzers.

Fear etched patterns into his stomach.  _Don’t disappear on me_. “You…?” he began, but broke off. “Ignis, may… may I see you again?” Gladio asked. He looked so beautiful standing there in a wash of pale street light.

“I’d like that,” Ignis, who was not Ignis, said. “Perhaps you would like to come by the restaurant one night?”

Gladio’s face split into a grin so wide he was sure his skin would crack. “Sure.”

“Anything in particular you like?” Ignis asked, his own smile radiant as the sun Gladio could no longer bear.

“Anything but garlic…”

“Right. No garlic,” Ignis nodded. “I like a challenge.”

It took everything Gladio had in him not to kiss Ignis then, but somehow he managed it. “Can I borrow that notebook of yours for a sec? And the pen?”

Ignis held it out to him, curious and expectant. Gladio tried hard not to stare at the vein pulsing in his neck. Ignis had used to let him drink from that vein, but  _he_ was not  _that_ Ignis.

On the back page of the notebook, in his best handwriting, Gladio wrote his number, followed by ‘ _Gladiolus Amicitia_.’ He closed the notebook and handed it back to Ignis, who was not Ignis. “See you,” he croaked, unable to look at those green eyes.

He didn’t stay long enough to watch Ignis disappear inside without opening the notebook.

He didn’t stay long enough to hear how long it took Ignis’ heartbeat to slow.

He didn’t go with him upstairs, so he didn’t know that Ignis’ ears were ringing.

He didn’t go with him upstairs, so he didn’t know that when Ignis opened his apartment door and sat down on the sofa, he held the notebook in trembling hands. Why his hands shook, Ignis wasn’t sure.

He didn’t go with him upstairs, so he didn’t see how Ignis’ eyes went wide at the name on the page when he read it.

He didn’t go with him upstairs, so he didn’t see how Ignis’ elegant fingertips traced the name.

“Gladiolus Amicitia,” he breathed. “Amicitia…  _Amicitia_?”

He rose, crossing to a rare volume of Lucian history. He had stumbled across it in an antique book shop in Lestallum. It was a manuscript, a first draft perhaps, and no published version survived to his knowledge. And he had done the research. The bookshop owner hadn’t known it for the treasure it was. It was hand written, in writing so similar to that in the back of his notebook, it was uncanny, and yet the name on the front page was not that of Gladiolus Amicitia. His name was in the story on those pages though.

_The Return of Light: A History of the Last Lucian King by Ignis Scientia._

Ignis Scientia.

Ignis.

Gladiolus.

Ignis sat there with his hand resting on the manuscript. “Impossible,” he breathed to the silent apartment. “Don’t be foolish.”

And yet…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio calls Ravus after the aftermath of seeing 'Ignis' again, and then goes to Ignis' restaurant for a date with the man who looks and acts like and, to all intents and purposes, IS the love of his life...

“Ravus?”

“Amicitia,” the voice on the other end rasped, gravelly and deep, and as familiar as his own after all these years. “Unlike you to call me. We’re not due to meet up for another few months. Everything alright?”

“No it fucking isn’t,” Gladio blurted. “I just saw Ignis.”

“What? Ignis is dead, Gladiolus.”

Gladio’s breath caught in his throat at the words, despite knowing they were true. “I know that,” he snarled, stalking down the street away from Ignis’ apartment, his hand clenched so tightly around his phone he was surprised he didn’t crush it. Everyone had earpieces now, but he stuck to older technology. Always had been a low-tech kind of guy anyway.

“Alright, so you saw someone that looked like him,” Ravus drawled. “So what? Chances of one human looking like another aren’t exactly astronomical you know?”

“Fuck you, Ravus,” Gladio snarled. “It isn’t like that. He _is_ Ignis. He looks _exactly_ the same, talks the same, laughs the same, heck, even smells the same. Listen, the reason I called you was so I could ask you if you got any books in that fancy library of yours that talk about reincarnation or some other shit.”

“I’m not your servant, Gladio,” he said flatly.

Gladio raked his fingers through his hair. “I know you’re not,” he said, trying to remain calm. It felt like a losing battle. “I know. Please, I’m… I’m in a bind. I would come to Tenebrae and research it myself, but…”

“ _He_ might call, don’t tell me…” Ravus said, and Gladio could _feel_ the roll of his mismatching eyes in Tenebrae all the way from Lucis. But then he added unexpectedly, “I understand.”

“You do?”

Ravus let out a slow, sad sigh. “Yes. I do. I’m sorry. I know I’m cold and sharp –”

“ – don’t try and blame that on being a vampire,” Gladio chuckled. “You’ve always been that way.”

Ravus gave an answering laugh, low in his throat and surprisingly warm. “I too have made a connection in recent months.”

“Oh?” Gladio asked, distracted that _anyone_ had pierced the permafrost of Ravus’ personality.

“Don’t gloat,” Ravus snorted. “It’s unbecoming.”

“M’not,” Gladio replied behind an ill-concealed laugh. “Do tell?”

After a moment of deliberation, Ravus exhaled sharply and said, “A young woman who works in the rare books shop not far from my house… She… I’m trying…” he broke off, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I tried hard to stay away from her, but… there’s something about her. I can’t.”

“It’s ok, Ravus,” Gladio said, turning left down a deserted street, heading for the house that had once been the Amicitia mansion.

He’d sold it in a fit of grief, only to purchase again it fifty years later. He’d spent a fortune restoring it to how it had been in his childhood, sourcing furniture and flooring, wallpaper and light fittings from every corner of Eos. He vowed he would never sell it again.

Gladio sighed. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m happy for you. You deserve a connection, you know? We all do.”

“Do we?” Ravus replied immediately.

“I’m not getting into some meta-discussion with you now, Ravus. It’s too late, I’m too emotional, and you always have to be fucking right anyway.”

Ravus’ laugh was bright and loud for a moment, and Gladio found his own lips twitching in response, despite his roiling emotions.

“You always remind me of Ignis in that respect,” Gladio mumbled. “Anyway, just have a look in your collection for me, would you?”

“Against my better judgement,” the one-time prince of Tenebrae sighed, “I will. And Gladiolus?” he added, just as Gladio was about to hang up. “Don’t do anything rash or stupid, will you?”

“It’s almost like you know me, Ravus,” Gladio growled, voice thick with sarcasm, trying not to laugh quite as bitterly as he felt. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”

It was only another week before Ignis, who was not Ignis he reminded himself sternly, sent him a text inviting him to dinner at his restaurant. Gladio still found it world-tiltingly unnerving that this Ignis, who was not _his_ Ignis, had called his restaurant The Regalia, of all things. Where the fuck had that come from?

Gladio had also spent that intervening week between meeting Ignis and receiving his text lost in his memories of the past, surrounded in his old house by old paintings and old photographs, staring at moving images on vastly out-dated technology, until one night he’d been reduced to tears at the sight of Ignis’ scarred face in a blurred photograph, taken by Prompto the day…night… _whatever_ that Noctis had returned to them.

He _ached_ to touch this new Ignis, who was _not_ Ignis, just for some clawed remembrance of the absolute love of his life. He’d hooked up with people, men and women, since Ignis, of course he had, if only to chase some vague sense of release, but every time had felt like a desecration of Ignis’ memory and he’d hated himself for it afterwards.

And now? What was this? What was he doing? Who was this person who wore Ignis’ face and carried his laugh and his grace around with him?

He stared at the message on his device, reading it over and over, his irises an unconcealed, violent red from thirst and emotion. His canines were fully extended, and thirst gnawed at his stomach and burned his throat. He _hated_ the pounding, aching insanity that Ardyn’s curse brought him more than anything. As a human he had prided himself in being in control at all times, but as a vampire he had to fight for every scrap of that control. Most of the time, by now, the fighting took place in the background, but the thought of _Ignis’_ blood, the connection when he’d sunk his fangs deep into the artery, made his mind ragged with want.

Setting his device down and ignoring the AI as she asked politely if he wished to dictate a message to ‘Ignis’, he stomped to the kitchen and, instead of pouring himself a glass of blood like he usually did, he bit straight into the plastic packet and drained it dry.

The head-rush, and the spike in his lust too, always took him a little by surprise, no matter how many times he fed or drank. The reality of what he was doing had long worn off. It was just liquid, carefully obtained from a trusted source at the blood bank. No citizens harmed.

Calmer, and with his thirst satiated, Gladio returned to the living room, his bare feet hardly making a whisper on the polished hardwood floors. If he looked closely enough, he could still see the score in the wood where Iris had scraped a die-cast toy across it, and he could hear the echo of his father’s scolding voice in his mind too, if he really concentrated. But now was not the time for that.

He replied to Ignis’ message, and sat back on the sofa, reaching for the whisky bottle that stood on the little coffee table, memories swirling before him.

When he arrived at the restaurant, two nights later, dressed simply in a black shirt and tight-fitting dark indigo jeans, his long hair tied back in a messy bun that, if questioned, he would have freely admitted had made _his_ Ignis weak at the knees, Gladio gave his name to the young woman at the door, and was shown to a table right at the back of the sleek, modern restaurant.

“If you’d like to take a seat, Mr. Amicitia,” she said, her heartbeat fluttering in her throat at the sight of him, like a captive bird, “Mr. Scientia will be right out.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, easing himself into the chair and staring around at the restaurant. Yes, it was all exactly as Ignis would have liked. Classy, clean lines, well lit, but not overly bright, with dark tables and polished floors, and the perfect amount of space between tables to allow for privacy and yet creating an all-round cosy atmosphere. In short it was so perfect he could have wept.

And just as his eyes glassed over, salt-tears prickling beneath his long lashes, Ignis, who was not Ignis, stepped out of the kitchens and walked over to him, the very picture of grace and control and beauty.

“You made it,” Ignis smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” he rasped, staring up at an absolute carbon copy, a perfect facsimile, of the love of his life. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Ignis’ face cracked into a genuine smile that lit up his green eyes and twisted his lips as though he was fighting the gesture for some reason, as though it were something too familiar, too… too _much_. Just like Ignis, Gladio thought. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“You did so well last time, why don’t you surprise me again?”

“Very well,” Ignis replied. “Now, is garlic the only thing you can’t eat?”

Gladio nodded. “Yeah. I’m deathly allergic.”

Ignis nodded seriously. “I understand. If that’s the only thing, then will you permit me to surprise you with the rest of the menu?”

“Only if you come and eat it with me,” he countered playfully.

A tiny blush, demure and bashful, graced the apples of Ignis’ cheeks and he said regretfully, “Alas, I cannot join you for all of it. I have a kitchen to run. Perhaps…” he added when Gladio began to deflate slightly, “Perhaps I could join you for dessert though. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’d be alright,” he grinned, his best, most roguish, lopsided smile twisting his lips upwards.

He caught the way Ignis’ heart-rate rocketed, and laughed softly.

“Very well,” Ignis said, clearing his throat slightly. “I’ll bring you something to drink, and then we’ll see about something to eat.”

Gladio nodded once, and watched as Ignis, who was not truly Ignis, walked away, his hips swaying slightly, his lean legs powering him back to the kitchen, his lithe back practically calling him, begging him, to run his hands down it.

Halfway through his glass of deliciously fresh, Sauvignon Blanc, his phone vibrated and he leaned slightly to one side to fish it out of his jeans pocket.

_Ravus: I found something you might be interested in. Call me when you can. R._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if and when this will next be updated as I have so many fics on the go, but I hope you liked it so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat on Tumblr @expectogladiolus!


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